


borrowed time

by riddlemesphinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drabble, First War with Voldemort, Hand Jobs, M/M, One Shot, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riddlemesphinx/pseuds/riddlemesphinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early morning hours of 1 November 1981, Sirius Black says a kind of goodbye before going after Peter.</p>
<p>For twelve years, it is the last memory Remus has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	borrowed time

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill the "AU: Other" space on my trope bingo card.

It is the very early morning of November the first, and the slamming of the door wakes Remus with a start. He has only just gotten his hand under his pillow for his wand when the bedroom door creaks open and Sirius is standing, shivering and pale, in the hall.

“Padfoot, what—?” Remus begins, flooding first with relief and then with a second panic, more uncertain than the first. But Sirius is striding into the room, barely pausing to shed his jacket before he reaches the bed. With his fists clenched in the ratty white cotton of the vest top he sleeps in, Sirius hoists Remus forward and sears their lips together. 

Every one of Sirius’s movements is hot, fast, and urgent. Too fast—Remus’s eyes roll back into his head as Sirius shoves a hand down the front of his pyjama bottoms, but he soon cries out in protest at the friction of dry skin. Sirius spits messily into his own palm by way of a remedy; then buries his face into the junction of Remus’s neck and shoulder. 

Stars blossom into supernovas behind his closed eyelids and he chants the name of his own personal star like a benediction into the chilly new-morning air. By the time he notices the hot tears running down his back, Sirius is doing up his jacket at the door, not looking at him. A car sputters past then, inexplicably, and the light from the headlamps momentarily slices through the blinds, casting long, shadowy bars across the room.

Remus is confused, sated; surprised, afraid; in love.

“Where are you going,” he whispers, though he doesn’t want the answer.

Finally, Sirius looks at him, face tight and wan over his shoulder. 

“Back soon,” he says simply.


End file.
